Motorcycle High: The Adventures of Rock Pounder

by Dave Harrold

Rock Pounder, adventure rider extraordinaire, is planning a round-the-world trip on his motorcycle. His goal is Amsterdam and the herbal refreshment that awaits him there. But when you’re a legend—among women, adventure riders, and spies—nothing is ever as simple as it seems. Come along for the ride as Rock and his bike travel onward through Siberia, Mongolia, and Europe. His destination is Amsterdam and the pleasures that lie in store. The journey will take him places he never expected to go. But when Rock Pounder is on a mission, no one stands in his way, except, maybe, a tall blonde who means nothing but trouble.

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

Prologue

I need to give up drugs. I’ve started dreaming a lot or maybe

it’s a nightmare, I don’t know, because these are real stories,

and I’m dreaming all of them again, in living color, or blood,

as the case may be.

I’m in Central America, a few years back. A couple of shady

guys have hired me to crew chief a plane with Orbie, a pilot I’d

worked with in the past. We’re flying 50 feet above the trees in

the Nicaraguan jungle. My job is to push the boxes carrying

guns, ammo, and medical supplies out the back of the plane

when we reach a clearing. I was pushing a big box out the door

when I slipped on a spilled diet coke some idiot had left on

the deck. I started sliding behind the box toward the door. I

was grabbing for anything to keep me from falling out, but out

I went. I had a harness on, and the harness held, but I didn’t

know for how long.

I was dragged along at 150 mph, holding onto the deck of

the plane for dear life. The wind was so strong I couldn’t even

yell or breathe. Orbie saw me and immediately put the plane

on autopilot. He made his way to the back of the plane, trying

not to slide out himself. He didn’t even have on a harness. But

Orbie flew helicopters in Vietnam, flying into battle zones to

rescue the wounded. He can deal with tough situations, and it

helps that he’s just to the left of crazy. He grabbed the tether

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Dave Harrold

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and pulled with all his strength and finally managed to get me

up onto the deck, where I was able to pull myself to safety. We

sat there for one second, before he rushed back and took the

plane off autopilot. This began a lifelong relationship of drugs,

women, booze, and, I might add, excitement.

We had about 50 minutes of flying time back to our base.

I’m not allowed to tell where it is. Orbie and I just sat there

and never spoke the entire 50 minutes. Boy, I’ll tell you what—

falling out of the airplane or any near-death experience for

that matter—makes you think. Next time a couple of shady

guys offer me a lot of money for a job in Nicaragua, I might

think twice.

The plane touched down and Orbie rolled it to our parking

space, which was really tight. The planes on each side of us

had moved over just to try and bother us. Orbie just pulled the

plane in anyway. Whenever we get back from a job, he always

says, “Well, let’s go to the house.” He says that even if we’re

sleeping in tents next to the runway. On this trip we weren’t.

We were on the motorcycles and headed off to town for maybe

a massage and some herbal refreshment and a few beers. As

usual, we were broke, but we had paid our bill at the local cantina,

so we had credit. As we came to the outskirts of town, four

guys were sitting in a jeep—like they were just waiting for us.

They were all wearing army uniforms. Orbie and I looked at

each other, and we knew these guys were not in the army. They

were bandits. They saw us coming.

 Continued….

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